[Wild Tansy]: I declare war against you
Chapter Soundtrack: "Make Me Wanna Die" by The Pretty Reckless
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| Chapter Ten | Wild Tansy
Mia 4, Connor 6
The first day of elementary school sucked.
He hated everything about it, the toothless smile and running noses of his classmates, the overly nice teachers, and the loud girls that even though were older than his favorite Little Monster, were definitely more immature.
He even hated the beige walls of his classroom and was ready to get home after the introductions, though he knew no one other than Francisca, the housekeeper, would be there.
He knew that no one was waiting for him at home.
When the day was finally over, he practically ran to the yellow bus that was going to take him home. A guy with almost white hair, freckles, and a big smile attempted to sit next to him and start a conversation, but the glare on his face made it clear - yeah, no one was going to sit next to him.
Before the bus could even come to a stop in front of his house, he noticed her through the window - the Little Monster.
She was in their front garden, kneeling on the ground with a box of harmless gardening tools next to her. She was planting flowers (again), while her Mom sat down on the stairs leading to their front door, sketching and looking after her.
He didn't even utter a small goodbye for his aide before he was making his way to her with rushed steps.
With every step he was taking toward her, he could feel the tension in his forehead resolve and a sense of calmness replace the unease he'd been feeling all day.
He never understood why she was the only person who could bring him peace.
It wasn't like he was violent or anything, he was just always angry, maybe mostly indifferent toward everyone and anything, and only with her, he could find tranquility.
Nodding a silent hello to Mrs. Sophie, he stepped closer to the Little Monster before her mom could say anything and ruin his surprise.
He kneeled down next to her and watched silently as her hand moved the soil around, with a small smile on her face. It was a mystery to him why she couldn't just use a pair of gloves. She hated those as if her life depended on it.
"Looks good," he said, startling her slightly, but when her eyes landed on him, she gave him her biggest smile.
He felt time stop.
"You're back!" She all but squealed, making the side of his mouth turn up into a secret smile.
"I am. What's it this time?" He asked, pointing at the seeds in her left palm.
"Deffadil."
"It's da-ffo-dil," he corrected her with a silent chuckle. She usually remembered the names of all the flowers she was planting, and he was sure she'll remember this one too because she was smart, really smart for her age.
"Yup! Was it scary at school?"
"It was goddamn boring," he muttered with a frown.
"Goddamn!" The Little Monster repeated after him, making her eyes widen with realization. He'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to say bad words around her. Her parents weren't as "open-minded" as his, they didn't curse around her all the time like his did around him.
"Shit, don't repeat that," he said again, panic written all over his face, before realizing what he'd done and biting his tongue.
"Shiiiiit," she screamed in his ear and he wondered if six-year-olds could have high blood pressure because he could practically feel his heart in his ears.
"What was that, Mia?" they heard Mrs. Sophie's voice and turned around to see her looking at her with a suspicious, you're-so-in-trouble look.
"It was Connor!" Mia exclaimed fast as lightning. "He taught me those words just now." She said, pointing at him with her tiny fingers. His eyes narrowed at her in a glare.
She turned her face to him too, her tiny features decorated with a mischievous grin before her lips turned into a full smirk.
"Shit and goddamn!" She repeated eyes still on him, making it hard for him not to want to jump on her and kick her ass.
This little shit, he thought staring at her and imagining all the ways he could make her eat dirt.
It was Mrs. Sophie's gasp of disbelief that held Connor back from strangling her. Ooooh, the Little Monster had no idea how much Connor would LOVE doing that right then.
"Mia, Connor! Follow me back home right now!" Her mother said with a tone that left no room for arguments. He knew he had no way out of it because even though he never cared about being scolded by his parents or any other adult, he liked Mrs. Sophie and he thought it was one of the few things that could move his stone heart... just barely.
Mrs. Sophie gathered her stuff and started to climb up the stairs to their front door, and he followed her inside with the Monster right next to her.
When his eyes wandered and met hers as both of them neared the front door, she gave him another big smirk, before sticking her tongue out at him just to annoy him some more.
This time, however, he didn't hold back. He flipped her the bird, making her stare at him confused.
She had absolutely no idea what that meant, did she?
Perfect! Now she couldn't tell on him and prove that he was the one to teach that to her.
He gave her a satisfied smirk in return, as her brain still tried to solve that puzzle, with her brows furrowed in annoyance.
Well, if she was indeed a monster, he was the devil.
Mia 17, Connor 19
My whole weekend passes in a blur.
I drew so many sketches of my final project for school, but none of them was good enough.
I couldn't get the right lighting, the right shape of the maze for kids, or the right mindset to concentrate on it.
Even the first 5 episodes of Friends couldn't get my mind completely off of what the arse did to me, how dirty he played with my mind and how I let him do that in that weak moment of my brain collapsing.
I mean, it's not like I wouldn't have felt guilty if we ended up kissing. I'd hate myself for disrespecting Jack and breaking the only thing we had in our relationship - our trust. But I can't deny that right then I wanted Connor to kiss me without even considering the fact that I had a boyfriend.
Does that make me a traitor? Does that make me dirty? If so, I didn't care about it at the moment, because the need I felt for him then was a foreign territory I was ready to explore barefoot.
He was all I could see or think about when he looked at me like that- like he knew I was his to do with whatever he wanted.
He wasn't that wrong...
I ached for him so bad and only he could put me out of my misery.
And so by next Monday, I am exhausted, and only a part of it is because of my existential crisis, the other part is because of the mild cold I caught as I waited for Sydney outside my building Saturday morning.
My running nose and aching body make me almost regret storming out of Connor's house early in the morning, catching a taxi with the last 28 bucks in the back pocket of my jeans, and waiting for Sydney to get her sorry ass to me as soon as possible and hand me back my purse.
As if that wasn't enough, I had to lie to her and Jack again, telling them some girl from the party let me sleep in her car outside the frat house we were at.
Just how long do I have to lie to my friends for Connor?
I really hate it.
And even though I'm slightly relieved Connor hasn't shown up this Monday, I have a crappy mood during the whole day. However, there's one thing that can cure my dark mood and I've been looking forward to it for weeks now.
I sneak through the iron door of the theatre and try to make my way to a vacant seat at the very end as soundlessly as possible.
It's kind of surprising no one turns around to scold me because of the sound my tiny and yet loud heels make. Today I've gone with a pair of black, dark blue, and beige pointed toe high heels, with a sharp and yet cute strap across the top. I've matched them with a pair of light slim mom jeans, a light beige crop top, and a matching crop jacket over it.
I check the time hoping I'm not very late. The announcement said it was going to start at three in the afternoon, and it's only half-past four now, so hopefully, there are still some amazing performances I can enjoy.
My eyes consume every performance, every turn of a ballerina on stage, every jump and pirouette.
Some ballerinas are good, so impressive my mouth hangs open in astonishment, while some could use more confidence and practice. I'm not judging though, especially when all I do... used to do, was to dance for my own fun and pleasure, ignoring all rules. I just assess as a fellow dancer.
A girl tries to do a fouette but fails slightly because of her shaky balance. A guy completely ruins the grand jete - the big jump-split in the air, with a painfully uncomfortable landing.
The time flies by as I watch the competition with greedy eyes, trying to stay in the dark. I just wish the majority of participants would have chosen more original plays because, by the time the competition nears the end, I've already seen 6 Swan Queens, 5 Giselles, 7 Romeos, and such.
I guess I'd love to see a scene from Masquerade or Spartacus, or any other original and lesser-known ballet.
It's past 6 when they announce there are no more performances and it's time to choose the 3 winners. Once the jury starts the voting process, I slip out of the theatre through the same door in the back. I didn't come here to see who's winning, because to me it's all subjective. I came here to meditate and it worked.
I make my way to the library next, with a lighter heart and a brighter soul now, to check out the next book we have to read for our modern lit. Since Syd has already gone home after 2 classes, I, too, head for my car once I'm all set.
As I make my way to my car through the almost empty parking lot, I can't stop smiling like an idiot as I recall all the incredible and beautiful ballet performances I saw today.
I'm so ready to go home and place all my passion and excitement in my next project.
However, my smile freezes on my lips just as fast when I finally reach my car.
I almost stumble on my feet, when I see Connor's car parked right in front of mine. That's not what makes my heart heavy again, though.
He's leaning against the wall next to it, with a dark-haired girl in a tutu dress all over him, as she all but abuses the side of his neck with loud moans.
I recognize her as one of the Giselles with a bad balance technique, based on the side of her face and dress.
Well, at least she doesn't have a problem with her balance now as she practically climbs him.
The copy of "American Psycho" almost slips out of my hands when Connor's eyes land on me, before a slow and confident smirk grazes his lips.
Just two days ago those eyes were hooded and hot on me, those lips were almost touching mine, while those hands that are now running over the bare back of the ballerina were tracing my mouth with a burning warmth.
Of course, I know that he's far from a virgin. I've heard people talk about him screwing around with girls in and out of his classes, but I've never really seen it with my own eyes.
To say it's making me sick is to say nothing at all. And when his one hand disappears under her dress, I feel my blood boil and my heart drop on the concrete, right in front of his feet.
In some screwed-up way, I realize, I've never stopped thinking of him as mine, even though he's never really been that.
So the realization that he's letting someone touch him like this, that HE is touching someone else so intimately, is like a knife twisting in my heart.
No doubt this is a part of the sick game he's playing with me, trying to prove to me that I don't mean anything to him, trying to prove to me that whatever happened the other night, the intimacy between us was nothing special for him.
But why the hell go out of his way for me - someone he claims he feels nothing for, not even hatred?
His eyes still holding mine, he grabs the girl's thigh and hooks her leg around him, the position bringing them closer together. I almost throw up, but try to keep my stoic face, as I watch him without blinking.
The way Connor's green, mocking eyes pierce my soul as they travel up and down my form with a hot gaze as if he's comparing me to her, helps me realize the choice of the girl, just like the location of his make-out session, is not a coincidence.
He knows I was watching the competition, he knows watching is all I do now when it comes to ballet and now he's forcing me to watch him with another ballerina who could have been me. By doing this, he tells me that I don't have anything anymore. I don't have ballet, and I definitely don't have him.
But did I ever have him?
If not, then why do I hate the sight of his hands all over another girl? Why do I want to drag her off of him and slap him across the face?
Why do I feel so miserable and helpless just because of the sight of him with someone else?
His eyes lock with mine again and I stare right back at him, hoping he can see the coldness in my gaze and realize what he's done. But all he does is give me another cruel smile as if challenging me to stop him.
"Come on, stop this. Let's see how you break," his eyes whisper as he nods at me in acknowledgment.
I don't. I won't.
Trying to push down the suffocating feeling crawling up my throat, I tighten my hold on the book instead, convince myself to master indifference on my face, and start to make my way to my car.
I make it a point not to glance his way again or flip him the bird, as I slide inside the driver's seat, drop my bearings in the passenger's and turn the engine on.
Ignoring him with my whole existence, I start to back away and pull out of the parking spot, my eyes never traveling back to him again.
He doesn't deserve it.
He can burn in hell now, for all I care, but if a silent war is what he's after, then I'll make sure he gets it.
And I'll be damned if he's not the one begging me for peace.